There she stood at my bedside, the morning before her birthday, just as her brother had done.
"I'm so excited to be seven tomorrow!" Emily whispered.
"So, I suppose you're happy that seven is in the numbers?" I replied, remembering Oliver's dismay about turning five.
"Well, yes," she began, "but eight actually suits me better."
I laughed out loud and wondered how I'm going to feel about becoming forty this year. Seems there's a need to contemplate numbers in this family :)
When light dawned this morning, my newly-turned seven year-old girl bounded into my room once more, this time without whispering. She had found a loonie where she had laid her tooth under her pillow the night before and she was grinning ear to ear and hopping like a bunny. She slowed to a stop and became serious.
"But Mommy," my girl mourned, "It was my most helpfulest tooth."
"That's okay," I encouraged, "you'll have a new one to replace it in just a few weeks."
And out she bounded with more vigor than she had coming in.